


the ruthless truth

by stag_von_simp



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: 3 + 1 Things, Confessions, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Grappling With Feelings, In This House We Hate Gilbert, Kissing, Mutual Pining, Realizations, clueless children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:21:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22327003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stag_von_simp/pseuds/stag_von_simp
Summary: claude has a realization about a friend, and he doesn't know how the hell to deal with it.or: three times claude almost confesses, and one time annette follows through.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 12
Kudos: 40





	the ruthless truth

***

the first time the truth nearly wells over, it’s perhaps for the silliest reason it could be for: because he enters the library to hear annette reading.

yes, he can hear it; she’s clearly glued to her book, eyes dancing across the pages at the pace of someone who adores what they’re reading…but she’s humming as she reads. 

_she’s humming as she reads,_ and the slightest smile flutters at the corners of her mouth, and her eyelids kneel over her eyes in a display of lazy comfort. it reminds him of how the ocean must look, lapping at the shore, excited but not overly so, not _uncomfortably_ so.

claude feels his body drift to stand beside the chair she’s occupying, and his hand buries into her hair, ruffling it nearly out of its neat-enough pigtails. annette jolts, her attention swerving right to frantically.

guilt curdles in his stomach; he hates to have tugged her from whatever fuzzy, safe dimension she’d found, and he hates that there’s suddenly something foaming in his throat, like tears, if tears were sweet enough to taunt, and if sadness were yearning.

that’s it. _yearning_.

he’s seventeen, and he’s never been in love.

but now he is. he’s in love.

dammit. he wasn’t prepared for this, even though he’s _always_ prepared.

there’s an exception to everything, he supposes–the exception to this sifts through his eyes with her own right now.

“that’s a funny look,” observes the exception. “seriously. why are you–”

_I LOVE YOU_ , he could have screamed.

what he settles for is this revolting array of words: “no one hums when they read. how do you even focus?”

annette sneers, nose crinkling, freckles folding. claude’s heart might just shatter with the need to kiss her that he’s finally able to label as such. “it’s the only way i _can_ focus,” she informs him. “is there a problem with that, _sir_?”

_yes, yes, it makes me love you, actually, and that’s kind of a problem._

“nope, not really,” claude laughs. “i’ve just…i should try it sometime.”

and wow, what a _wasted_ opportunity that was.

***

the second time he nearly loses this battle with his heart is just as ridiculous, and for this reason: because she won’t just shrug out of his mind, and he _actually plans_ on letting her know that. 

he’s written a song and everything. anyone who knew him would snort in his face at the prospect of being so sincere, so direct, so _proud_ of his humanity and the emotions that inevitably plague him for it.

right now, the scrap of paper the song is printed on in his static penmanship is crumpled in one pocket, in case he forgets these words he’s thought so many times, these words that ripple through his head a touch desperately.

he will not forget them, he swears to himself. he’ll confess, and he will be fine.

life will go on, he can soothe himself when annette isn’t here–

but then she crops up in his vision, a glimmer against the lens of his periphery, and his eyes pan over, and his heart dives into his stomach to hide from the all-encompassing realization that cracks his shoulders now, true as the love he feels for annette: _he can’t do this_.

“hey, claude,” annette greets him, flapping a hand excitedly as if to cement her existence, as if she must make him _more_ aware of her. “um, you wanted me to meet you here?”

her head tilts. claude’s heart wails.

“yeah, about that,” claude says, wracking his brain for what it is _about that_ that can swing open an escape route. “er. i…um..i tried humming while i was reading. it was…effective. yeah.”

“i told you!” annette pumps her fists triumphantly. “well, next time we read together, we can harmonize. looking forward to it!”

a beat of silence thrums between them. claude is trying not to shake–trying not to _scream_ at his cowardice. 

“well…is that it?” annette’s tone is stretched thin; she clearly hopes that isn’t it.

but it’s all claude can give, so he musters a smile and a nod, before grazing past her to wade through those poison-laced waters of his own self hatred.

***

the third time, he teeters so close to the truth he _could have_ managed it.

he creeps so close to it, and yet…the words stay locked up within him, festering into a monster of swallowed feelings that stirs, craving his heart in its jowls, nearly every moment he is awake.

of course, the circumstances let him forget all this agony, if just for a moment, by stacking on another brick of pain–annette’s pain, which translates to a spitting knife wound right in the ribs, for claude.

he’s wandering the monastery one night–as he does, when sleep dodges his desires, as it has gotten so deft at doing–his footfalls the pulse to a chorus of sobs he only takes note of at first.

but then he ducks into the library, and annette is there, and it turns out, the sobs are hers. she’s stashed hersef between a pair of shelves, hunched away from the world, but claude finds her easily enough, trailing after the rustling sounds of her sadness.

he clears his throat when he sees her, and annette swivels to face him so slowly, making the arc as if she’s burdened by shame. why she would be ashamed of crying in front of him, he doesn’t know.

the moon that glares in through the windows sparks her teardrops into diamonds. even with her chin wobbling like this, she’s a breathtaking sight.

claude stoops in front of her, clapping a hand onto a shoulder and feeling his brow twist with concern. “what’s this all about?” he says, voice just a cloud of air shrouding faint words.

annette mops at her cheeks. “nothing,” she groans. “you’re supposed to be in bed. the library’s o-off limits right now.”

claude offers her a smirk. “sleep will only come when it wants. besides, you’re one to talk. hey. aren’t you going to laugh at the irony?”

“no,” annette quivers out. “i…i’m sorry, claude, i don’t think i can–”

“it’s okay. you know…if you need someone to listen to you…”

“i know, you want to help,” annette sniffs. “but you shouldn’t have to.”

“that’s okay,” claude tells her. “i’m more than happy to listen.”

so annette pools over; annette tells him everything. it’s her father that has her so down, he learns–it’s her father that’s dragged her down every time she’s ever been hurt. it’s her father that has left her aching without the promise of an antidote to cling to. 

and it’s her father who’s keeling with stomach pains at breakfast the next day.

claude is quite satisfied with his work, and annette seems to share the sentiment, because she dashes up to him the next day, asking if it’s him that has her father tangled in the pain. claude shrugs and smirks, and annette giggles before launching into a hug.

claude’s breath rattles off into nothing.

he could tell her _so easily_ now, that he adores her, that he’ll be pleased to defend her emotions every time they need defended, for as long as they both shall live.

but he can’t wrestle control over his breathing enough to say _anything_.

***

years have tumbled by. memories have glazed with dust. claude’s feelings still sting as cruelly as they always did, but now he’s resigned to them. if he must weather them in silence forever, then he will.

a battle swells on the horizon like a storm or an omen. claude’s stomach swirls with nerves as he flings plans at everyone on the field.

annette stumbles up to him as the enemy draws closer.

“annie, you need to get in–” he starts–only to stop, only to _freeze_.

and then, only to dissolve, because annette has hopped up to kiss him.

“i’m worried, claude,” she confesses, each word a strangled gag. “i’m worried you’re g-going to get hurt…ugh, i had to. i’m sorry. i’ll never–”

“w-what just happened?” claude squeaks.

annette’s cheeks fogs crimson. “i…i love you, claude. that’s what just–”

panic swarms behind her eyes in a wall, nearly ready to crumble down her cheeks, so claude has no choice but to swoop down and wipe it away with his lips.

“is it not obvious how much i love you too?” he croaks. “i’m sorry…i though i wore it all over my face.”

“wait! you…”

claude kisses her again in his unspoken answer, because he feels too sick to talk. 

too sick with _glee._


End file.
